


i sang a hymn to bring me peace

by babelincoln



Category: 2NE1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Future Fic, Gen, POV Second Person, what is the blackjack vibe if it's not your au literally just being au where minzy has a comeback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:21:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21677413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babelincoln/pseuds/babelincoln
Summary: "so why did you leave?" asks the interviewer, and you stutter."sorry, she's here to discuss her upcoming album-" management cuts in- and you take advantage of the momentary distraction to fluff your hair, check your nails, do anything but appear shaken by the question.why did you leave?it was over. none of them wanted it to be, but it was over. 2ne1 had been given up on by everyone but 2ne1. staying and trying to push it wouldn't have served anybody. just look at chaerin and sandara.management conclude their scolding and the interviewer eyes you inquisitively. you smile. "would you stay?" you ask. your manager demands the answer is struck from the record.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	i sang a hymn to bring me peace

i. you are gong minji. it’s five am in the philippines and the humidity in the air is making your hair frizz. you should really go inside. 

there's something beautiful about the sight of manilla. sandara's kingdom would never be anything less, you suppose. you swirl around what's left of the liquor in the bottom of your glass and tighten your lips. later, when it stops being kind of night and more like day, you will perform for an audience who secretly wish you were her. best to just finish your drink and go inside. 

hair and makeup arrive and a woman four years your junior scoffs as she rips the tugs out of your hair- it's kept its signature wine red, a pain to upkeep but it beats looking like dora the explorer. the dye deadens your scalp and splits your ends. damaged, but iconic. there's a parallel to be made there, but even you aren't angsty enough to make it. that, and you're sure someone would remind you that you are fourth out of four on the popularity scale of a group who're little more than a throwback thursday these days. (first group to ever win all three grand awards at mama, but you know better to clap back.)

you play the gig. the setlist is seventy five percent 2ne1 songs and fifteen percent your own.

ii. "you just have to hang in there." bom's voice offers over the phone, and if you were talking to anybody else, you'd tell them to go fuck themself. you can't tell bom that. if there's any living proof that just hanging in there pays off, it's bom. 

there's no point in going solo if nobody wants you to, though. all the odds stacked against bom did nothing but make her comeback kid moment a hundred times more iconic. if your debut record had gotten even half the attention bom's did, you'd be happy. sometimes, you worry that people only like you for the smug sense of charity they might get from supporting the underdog. that was the trouble. because if chaerin was the charismatic bad girl and sandara was the quirky beauty queen and bom was the diva with a heart of gold, what was left for you? for a while, you were the kid, but you grew up. you were the sexy one, but it's not as if you're the only person in the world who knows how to shake her ass. and then there was the weird period of time where you were marketed as both of those things at once, but you'd rather feign ignorance to the implications of that. 

"you're so fucking talented, minji." park bom promises through her iphone. "you just need the right song, and the rest of the world are gonna catch up." 

"i guess." you say, swathed in blankets, another day in bed because there's nowhere else to be. you want to believe her, but you can't help but doubt it. 

iii.  you were nineteen years old and you'd written a bunch of tracks to beats donated by teddy, and you played them for the board of directors with a burst of excitement because this was something that was just for you. you were so fucking proud of it. one of them looked you in the eye and told you; "you have talent, you just don't have the star power."

the moment won't leave your psyche for the rest of your life.

iv. twenty five now, which is too young to be feeling like your career is way behind you, but also an offensively old age for a woman to dare to reach in this industry. you're back in la, because you want to shop and because you'd forgotten that chaerin had returned to korea yesterday and maybe wanted the type of hug she gives where she just gives it and doesn't ask questions. for a while, there were days when you'd finish class and she'd be locked up in that rapunzel tower writing music that will never be released and desperately pretending she's fine, and she'd pour you margaritas and you'd watch movies, and for the first time, she wasn't a leader but just a friend. you know you hurt her the deepest when you left, but she tells you she doesn't blame you. 

you miss her. but she's got her own shit. 

so you're spending your i am the best money on shoes you'll never wear when a blackpink song filters through the store speakers, and the words are yours. intimately yours, interpolated from your nineteen year old self's diary entries. you don't even bother checking if you're credited- you're not. and the employee at the store is not getting paid enough for you to stop typing your pin halfway through to call teddy and demand answers. 

"we're all just doing what we're told, kid." he says, voice resigned, and although you know that it's not his fault, not the girls' fault either, the 'fuck you' is said before you can stop yourself. teddy apologises. you hang up and finish paying for your shoes. 

v.  "i need to put a fucking record out" you tell your ceo. he begins to answer. you cut him off. "i'm  **going** to put a fucking record out."

vi. you haven't left the studio for three days, and the sound of his voice makes you jump.

"i heard you were working on the miseducation of gong minji in here." kwon jiyong says, peaking around the studio door. for the few seconds you hug him, you feel seventeen and starry eyed again, little black bob and baggy adidas sweatpants, and jiyong is skinny and handsome and peroxide blonde, and there’s something like home in the embrace. it takes you back to innocence, when you'd deluded yourself into thinking that everything was love and family and loyalty. but when you pull away and face him, there's age on his face, black hair still growing out of his military buzz, and you're forced to remember that you're no longer kids on the come up together anymore. you’re adults. young legends. icons of a previous era outstaying their welcome. you want to say that you are mutual survivors of yg, but you’re not too sure that jiyong has survived yet. 

"i heard you were back." you beam. "to what do i owe the pleasure of a home visit?"

"heard you were working on an album." jiyong grins his fox grin, tucking his thumbs into his pockets. "and i think i got a song for you."

vii. "so why did you leave?" asks the interviewer, and you stutter.

"sorry, she's here to discuss her upcoming album-" management cuts in- and you take advantage of the momentary distraction to fluff your hair, check your nails, do anything but appear shaken by the question.

why did you leave? 

it was over. none of them wanted it to be, but it was over. 2ne1 had been given up on by everyone but 2ne1. staying and trying to push it wouldn't have served anybody. just look at chaerin and sandara. 

management conclude their scolding and the interviewer eyes you inquisitively. you smile. "would you stay?" you ask. your manager demands the answer is struck from the record. 

viii. billboard post about your album as it drops. finally, they proclaim, the triumphant return. you may allow yourself one or two moments to feel like the prodigal daughter. your album is good. really good. and people actually agree with you this time. the reviews come in and they praise you to the high heavens- the g-dragon produced title track making waves on the charts that nobody had really conceived as possible for a post-girl group minzy. everyone - everyone from that past life of yours, they all send you their congratulations, from sean to hayi to youngbae. sandara and bom treat you to shot after shot after shot, and from chaerin, who never seems to be in the same country for longer than a day, you receive two dozen red roses and a handwritten letter signed with the red kiss of her lipstick. 

happy is not a strong enough word.

“minji,” you tell yourself, because there’s nobody around to hear. “you’re not dead yet.”

ix. you are gong minji, your single has peaked at number one on the charts, and everyone you love is in your living room, champagne drunk and singing to western pop songs, and the breeze is on your back as you stand outside on the balcony, head fuzzy from the alcohol and hair cascading in curls that fall past your ass, and the cold of seoul is home. 

you smell her before she approaches, the chanel perfume and the leather of her jacket, and chaerin wraps her arms around your back and leans her head on your shoulder. 

“why are you hiding from your own party?” she asks, squeezing your middle. 

“i’m too drunk.” you say with a laugh, hands wrapping around her wrists. “needed some fresh air.” 

“i’m so proud of you, minji.” chaerin says.

for a second, you consider twisting around in her arms and kissing her. but you think of all the other times the thought has popped up in your head, and all of the times you denied yourself- it had been over a decade, now. if you were going to kiss her, you would have already done it. 

the balcony doors slide open, and the anime villain cackle of park bom suffixes a nonsensical joke half-told by sandara, and your peace is shattered. but as they lean over the balcony beside the pair of you, bom accidentally drops her champagne glass to the depths of the city below, and the four of you laugh until your sides hurt, and it’s like nothing has ever changed.

“i miss us.” says bom, and you nod in agreement. 

“we all do.” says chaerin, giving you a squeeze. 

x. you are gong minji and you are eleven years old. yg entertainment wants you to audition, and you are  _ so excited _ .

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so overwhelmed and delighted by chaerin's comeback and i miss minji and i'm writing wish fulfilment fanfic instead of finishing the 10k fic i've been writing for like two months. 
> 
> i used to always write in second person bc i used to stan homestuck and i remember being like cyberbullied about writing in second person on fanfiction dot net because it was against the rules and there were some people who like super cared about the rules lmao. anyway i don't think im going to be getting back into the habit of it but i do like how it allows you to approach these types of character study esque stories!
> 
> anyway i'll go now! if you liked this story please maybe comment i'd really appreciate that!


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